


The Seaweed in Lake Calenhad

by Starla-Nell (Princess_Nell)



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening
Genre: Begging, Cock Rings, Corruption of the Tentacle Monster, Deepthroating, Dubious Consent, Existentialism, Fix-It of Sorts, Gags, Kidnapping, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Other, Sensory Deprivation, Size Kink, Tentacle Rape, Tentacle Sex, Tragic Romance, Underwater Sex, Waking to Sex, might as well face it, sort of, this fic takes itself way too seriously, you never know the prostate might work that way when tentacles are involved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-05
Updated: 2017-05-05
Packaged: 2018-10-28 07:02:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10826205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Princess_Nell/pseuds/Starla-Nell
Summary: Anders is discovered by a curious creature hoping to meet its needs... and maybe some of Anders' needs, too.Just kidding, this is straightforward tentacle smut with only the barest minimum pretense of plot and character development.





	The Seaweed in Lake Calenhad

**Author's Note:**

> Read at your own risk! Seriously, you might want to skip this one. I don't know where it came from, it's unbeta'd, I threw it together in maybe a day.  
> Turn back! I never researched tentacle kink. In fact, when I've seen interesting fics with the kink, I've shied away, thinking it wasn't my kink.  
> Finally, and most importantly, this consent is the most dubious I have ever written. I really am not sure whether to tag it rape. How do you even give consent to a tentacle monster? If you can, then Anders did, but only after it was clear there was no escape. 
> 
> I haven't scared you away? You're still here? All right. 
> 
> I guess I have an inkling of where this came from. I wrote it partly because I follow someone on Tumblr with this kink. (That would be [Sanguinifex here on AO3](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Eros_Scribens/pseuds/Sanguinifex)! Thanks again!) I tend to suddenly write things for kinks if I know someone will read them. A few months ago, they said something about tentacle monsters needing to be monsters, not just dick-substitutes or something, and I guess that gestated in the back of my brain until this emerged.  
> Another reason I wrote this (once the idea hatched) is I could easily see the monster's motive. If I can see a character's motive, they're easy to write. Go figure.  
> And the other character? It's Anders because *shrugs* he's the only character who has swum Lake Calenhad, in-canon and everything. So as literally the only canon character in the setting, he was a shoe-in.  
> Also, Tumblr helped me stumble over some Anders/Tentacles art, so there's that. If/when I find it again, I'll link it here, but it was done by [@drawsshits on Tumblr](http://drawsshits.tumblr.com/).  
> If you find the link first, send it to me!  
>  
> 
> Oh, and for the record, I wasn't kidding about the tragic romance tag.

Anders stares up at the cerulean blue sky. It’s one of those rare Ferelden days – or hours, perhaps – when there isn’t a cloud in sight.

He’s floating on his back in the lake, wearing nothing but smallclothes. As much as he likes his mage robes, this is better: the sky, his breath as he recovers from his swim away from the island tower, the air and water surrounding him, not a wall in sight. Freedom.

Robes would just pull him under.

It starts with a brush of seaweed on his ankles as he drifts. He doesn’t kick, remembering that seaweed can tangle and pull if you struggle. He pulls with his arms, glancing at the stuff as it slides over the arches of his feet. It’s strange, not a variety he’s seen before: pale green and leafless, just supple stalks maybe the width of a few fingers reaching for the light. Anders is almost recovered; he decides to rest a little more under the warm summer sun before swimming another leg to shore, where a friend has clothes for him. He should make it just before dark.

He must have gotten caught in some sort of current, because suddenly he floats into a bed of that same seaweed. It’s all around him, floating against his head, shoulders, back and arms, but tangling in his legs. Adrenaline shoots through him, but he tries not to thrash and panic, tries to assess where he is and how to get out without getting more tangled.

A piece of seaweed—no, a tentacle—the size of his wrist rears up next to his head and he loses that fight. He pushes against the nest of pale, sinuous limbs and tries to yell.

Tries because the larger tentacle enters his open mouth, sealing his throat shut and pushing his head under water. He tries to grasp, claw at it with his hands, but the thinner tentacles wrap around his wrists and pull away. Limbs wrap around his legs and chest, pulling him deeper.

_I’m monster food._ Anders struggles harder, and more smooth, strong, tentacles wrap around him. Something opens in the back of his throat and he can finally release that scream, but it’s strangely muffled by the water around him. Between struggling and yelling out all of his air, soon his body is fighting for breath, but _he’s under water_ though his open mouth feels strangely dry and now he can’t stop it hurts too much he has to take a breath so he does.

It’s air. Sweet, good air, with enough oxygen to make him giddy after a few gulps. He can’t move, so he stops trying, just gulping air as hard as he can.

When he’s caught his breath, he’s also calmer. What he’d taken as a large tentacle is actually some sort of fleshy breathing tube, though what could the tube lead to underwater… is this the creature’s mouth? He pulls again at the thought, but he still can’t move.

He looks around, but he can’t see much under water. Shadowy columns of light green surround him, not going up and down but going all directions. A feeling of security washes through him. He’s _safe_ here. This thing is keeping him alive, breathing for him. He notices now a tentacle plugging his nose and wrapped around his head to hold it in place so the breathing tube doesn’t slip while he struggles. It’s not going to eat him, and it seems to understand at least a little about what humans need to survive underwater. It won’t let him hurt himself or it, and most importantly he can’t be seen by the Templars. He’s still free from walls and from constant scrutiny, and there’s no chance he’ll be caught here.

Anders takes a deep breath through the tube to calm down and relax his muscles. Another breath, a little more relaxed. The grips around his chest, his legs, and his arms all ease, but the one holding his head secure stays firm. Another breath. Tentacles release and retreat, leaving a firm grip on his head and each wrist and ankle. Another breath.

The tips of the tentacles return, poking and prodding at his body. The thing is just curious. Anders smiles around the breathing tube, and breathes his anxiety away as some of its touches explore awkward and ticklish parts of his body, like the backs of his knees, the bottoms of his feet, or his ribs. Fortunately, his smallclothes keep things from getting _really_ awkward, since Anders isn’t sure how he would tell the creature to stop. The fabric doesn’t prevent contact, but it does mute its effect and keep the creature from getting too much detail.

Then a tentacle traces curiously around Anders’ neck.

Anders has been touched in non-sexual ways before: apprentices washing each others’ backs in the baths, hugs, instructors grabbing this or that limb to make some minor adjustment to a gesture or pose for a spell. Templars have touched him in places that give him this awkward feeling, now layering with the more platonic touches. But no one has ever touched Anders’ neck unless they intend to give him pleasure. All of the mucus-coated tentacles that had felt like childish exploratory fingers suddenly now feel like tongues, decadent and debauched, trailing cum across his skin. One brushes against his nipple again, and this time he doesn’t suppress a cringe: he gasps.

As Anders releases that breath, everything touching him stops moving. He freezes, too. He doesn’t want to frighten this monster into releasing him. He doesn’t know how deep into the lake they are, and he’s depending on that breathing tube right now to survive.

Slowly, the tentacle swipes over his nipple again. He tries to repress it, not wanting to frighten it further, but he gasps anyway, releasing a moan as the tip presses and swirls.

The limbs surge into motion again, still exploring, but this time seeking out and repeating anything that makes him gasp, moan, and breath harder. With the tentacle loose around his neck and his cock achingly hard, all of the ticklish spots the monster found earlier have turned into erogenous zones. The sensations shift too quickly for Anders to track anything, but moments come through clearly.

His hair is tugged, a tentacle wrapped around his chest, writhing against his hard nipples. His hands are held behind his back by one tentacle wrapping his arms together, the tip of that tentacle tracing the muscles of his neck. His feet are pressing against tentacles that are also wrapped around his ankles, holding him steady. He has no idea which way is up.

His legs are floating free, his hands still pulled behind his back. He tilts his head back, gagging as the breathing tube slides further into his throat. The tensing muscles register as pleasure, more pleasure as a tentacle wraps in the crease of his leg over his smallclothes, pressed through the cloth next to his cock. The tentacle around his neck moves to tilt his chin up and feel the muscles convulse again as the breathing tube slides in and out a few inches.

Nothing is sharp, nothing has edges. He wants to run his nails along his own skin, bite his own shoulder just to add definition to this soft, full luxury, but the breathing tube keeps his mouth full and tentacles hold his fingers away from his own skin. He gives up, relaxing into the slow, decadent buildup.

Now his hands are held out to his sides, and the monster has allowed him to tilt his head forward so he can watch the blurry light green limb tracing down his ribs. He quivers, but his legs and head are held firmly and he won’t come unmoored. He moves his hand slowly, so that it won’t get pulled away again, and unties the string to his smallclothes. He pulls the waistband to allow the limb access underneath, then starts shoving them down, breathing hard, as the limb traces the crease at the top of his thigh and discovers his ball sac. The tentacle looped around his wrist tightens and pulls his hand away, but another limb joins the first under the smallclothes, as eager as he is. He breathes tight and fast as the two limbs explore the smalls and how to remove them. Then the fabric is gone, and one tentacle wraps around his cock, sliding, while the other swipes along the crack of his ass. He cums for the first time.

He’s relaxed and liquid, floating in ecstasy, but the tentacles don’t stop insisting on more. They learn fast, finding what he cannot ignore, even right after cumming, and hitching his breathing again. He moans at being made to perform again, but how can he tell it, how can he stop it? His Harrowing was not so long ago, and soon he’s hard again. The tentacles seem somewhat satisfied with that, and they slow to a more systematic approach to driving him crazy. It’s too much, he’s too sensitive, but this time a tentacle wraps firmly around the base of his cock, cutting him off. The monster knows exactly where it likes him, panting and desperate and not _quite_ cumming. It holds him there for hours, until Anders can’t think of anything but cumming again. When he does, it’s the most pain he’s had since he was pulled under water, but it feels so good, pushing cum past the tight grip of the muscular tentacle.

Anders breaks the surface again, gagging as the breathing tube leaves the back of his throat. Tentacles press and support and caress him under the water, allowing him to sit up. It’s morning, the soft glow of sunrise painting the sky to the east. It’s cool and beautiful, and he can hear birdsong on the shore.

“Please,” he whispers, and the monster stuns small fish and feeds them to him raw. They crunch oddly, but they are delicious.

“Please,” he moans, and the monster feeds him raw clams and mussels and oysters, pried open for him. They slide down his throat, and his entire body relishes them.

“Please,” he asks, and the monster uses the empty shells to give him water to drink, the water they’re surrounded with. It cradles his head and tilts the shell. It takes several tries, but soon the attention is as tender as Anders could wish.

“Please,” he begs, and the monster inserts the breathing tube again. A type of tentacle Anders hadn’t seen before brushes his temples, and he falls asleep as tentacles wrap around his nose, eyes, chest, and limbs, but not his neck.

###

In the evening, Anders surfaces again refreshed, if achy and hungry once more. The menu is the same. The tentacles are grass-green in the fading light.

It inserts the breathing tube, this time keeping him awake as it pulls him under and wrapping a limb lightly around his neck. Anders hisses in a breath, remembering everything this creature learned about him last night. He releases it in a moan as the creature caresses him on his forearms, the back of his neck, his inner thigh, and the small of his back. Other limbs are looped around his wrists and ankles, but he’s not struggling yet. He gives himself a challenge to see how long he can hold still enough those loops don’t tighten.

###

The creature has Anders’ hands above his head (assuming that way is actually up) and is gently fucking his throat with the breathing tube when it discovers that the most sensitive point on his ass is an _entrance_.

Anders moans, chokes, and moans some more as the tentacle gently probes into his ass. He’s been waiting for this, hoping for it and fearing it, every time a tip got close like exquisite torture. Now he moans encouragingly as it inches inside. It slides out a little, and that’s even better. Anders moans and pants and strains against the grip on his body, trying to grind harder onto the flexible tip. Infuriatingly, it moves with him as he pulls back and forth, trying to show the movement he needs.

It seems distracted from his feedback, like a kid ignoring a parent in a candy store. How easily it usually reads him! How he’d learned in the last few days to tell it what he likes! But on this, it is focused. It slides into him, deeper and gentler than any lover could before. When it grazes his sweet spot, his prostate, it shivers right after he does. It continues deeper but always darts back to that spot, toying with it and driving Anders crazy.

The width is nothing special, but the depth this creature can take him and the precision with which it hits all the best places has him panting, then shaking, then when it brushes his cock with another appendage, cumming hard and clenching on the muscular tentacle. And though it understands lately about recovery time, it still doesn’t quit.

Now it slides a second tentacle next to the first, and the slick stretch is incredible. Anders whimpers into the breathing tube, and suddenly the monster freezes again, like it did when it first discovered how to touch Anders. It’s still cradling the back of his head, and it uses the limb caressing his neck to tilt his head back slowly. It slides the breathing tube in and out of his throat, and Anders moans for more. Carefully, so carefully, it slides the double tentacles in and out of his ass, and Anders pants and quivers and loses track of thinking. Then it wraps around his cock and slides the same few inches, and he’s hard and longing to cum again. He’s not sure what’s hotter, the fact that he can’t control any of it or the way that he has single-handedly corrupted a lake monster to understand three types of human sex.

A moment later, he can’t think about it, because it’s enthusiastically practicing all three. He _just came_ but his body doesn’t care. Tentacles flow over him, up his inner thigh, over his back, over his balls, through his hair, down his chest, along his legs, and tight around his arms because he’s thrashing again. They don’t pause at his ass or legs or chest in appreciation the way a person might, but they do press and demand and elicit a response from his body. All while the tentacles in his ass and around his cock stroke him in perfect time to the breathing tube fucking his throat.

_Is this what it wants?_ Anders thinks, moaning and thrashing and trying to figure out how to encourage it. _Does it need more? How can I repay it for this?_ Anders needs it, wants it, and couldn’t stop it if he tried. Then the grip around his neck tightens soothingly, and the tip of one of the tentacles prods his sweet spot, and he couldn’t stop himself if he tried. His orgasm wracks through him, harder this time. He yells into the breathing tube, which expands, stilling, to seal his throat from lake moisture. He falls apart, shaking and disoriented as the pleasure becomes so intense. He feels grateful for the tentacles around his ankles and wrists. They anchor him even as the ones around his neck and cock and the two in his ass make him lose reality and try to float away. His pleasure comes in bursts of light in the darkness, in waves, in doors to other dimensions. But he is here. His lover is holding him here, and it won’t let go.

###

The next morning comes, much as the previous one had, and a few before that. This monster is insatiable, and even after his second orgasm, it kept Anders buzzing all night with enough low-level arousal that he could never bask in the pleasure or rest. He basks now, knowing sleep will come after he eats. His new lover provides him with more of the foods he likes best, and ensures that his needs are taken care of. Lately, it pulls him under, holding him and shading him from the sun with its grass-green tentacles for a while before it puts him to sleep with the caress at his temples.

###

Anders wakes, gasping through the tube, to combined caresses on his neck, feet, balls, and ass. The light is fading in the water around them, and it seems his lover can’t wait until after dinner. Or is it breakfast when your days and nights are flipped? More tentacles lick gently along his skin, and he hums his appreciation, pressing against the contact but not struggling. They have all night, and this feels _good_.

_Can I live like this?_ Anders wonders. But he knows he can’t, not forever. Fish and water do not make a balanced diet. He’d loaded up on starches before leaving for his long swim, stealing and borrowing and begging from other mages to make the amount he was eating less obvious to the Templars, so he’d be fine for a few days. But eventually such a limited diet would take its toll. He wants a pastry. Any pastry.

If he could promise his lover he would be back… but he has no way to communicate with it. No way beyond sex. So Anders leans into the caresses, strokes his lover when he’s allowed, enjoys all of its touches with a sigh. Anders is hard and needy by the time it pushes him to the surface. Far from frustrated, Anders glows with pleasure. He manages to lick a tentacle as it’s feeding him, and the limbs touching him vibrate. The flavor is bitter and sharp and absolutely delicious. When he’s full, Anders sighs and leans back into the embrace of its tentacles, sheathing his teeth with his lips to accept the shamrock-green breathing tube and using his hands—free for once—as paddles to pull them deeper.

The tentacles start gently enough to make tears leak into the lake around them: brushing hair out of his face, tracing the muscles of his arms, brushing over his legs and chest, avoiding his crotch, nipples, and even his neck. He’s floating free, not trying to right himself or control his descent, tentacles nudging him but not wrapped around anything, not even his head. He accepts the breathing tube easily, and it trusts him not to hurt himself fighting it.

Two tentacles slide up his sides. At first, he doesn’t notice in the sea of other gentle touches. But they get under his arms and push them out, then up. He doesn’t fight: he allows it to guide his arms above his head, where one tentacle wraps around both wrists. His breathing picks up as he wonders what it will do next. Tentacles on his legs trail down and secure his ankles. He still doesn’t fight.

Its grip tightens, and it pulls in opposite directions, slowly and steadily until Anders’ back pops once. There is no touch on his neck or the back of his head or anywhere anymore, but Anders trusts this monster only wants his pleasure. The anticipation is enough to speed his breath as he considers how exposed it feels to be naked and stretched out deep in Lake Calenhad.

It tugs his hair then smooths a stroke over forehead and cheek, avoiding Anders’ eyes. Then it uses his jaw to tilt his head back, exposing his neck to caress down. It continues lazily, as if Anders breath isn’t sped as it nears his nipples. Anders mind swims with pleasure as it teases each nipple, one at a time, with infinite patience. Anders moans, and it adds a tentacle to the back of his head as if to soothe him. Then it folds a tentacle over to press the nipple in a new way. It’s fucking sublime, and Anders moans and lets his head loll into its cradle. It squeezes again repeatedly, experimenting and switching nipples until Anders is moaning continuously and bucking in his lover’s grip. The grip tightens, but the touch to his nipples disappears until Anders can get his panting frustration under control.

His cock is rock-hard.

Now the touch starts at the inside of one wrist, still held stretched above his head. It traces down the most sensitive parts of his arm then down his side, avoiding his armpit and nipple. The touch down his ribs reminds Anders of when he’d invited the probing tentacles to get rid of his small clothes (where were those, anyway?) and he gasps and strains a little more. Sure enough, the tip trails down the crease at the top of his leg and to his balls, but this time it gently flicks and teases at the sac, drawing twitching reactions from Anders. He groans and makes a pleading whimper. His bonds squeeze briefly and reassuringly. He pants into the tube and tries to nod. He can be patient. He has no other choice. The decent down his body finishes with a slick trail down one leg.

He stays suspended there: three tentacles and one breathing tube his only points of contact. He’s been out of touch with the outside world for _days_. He cannot do anything. He cannot really see or hear anything meaningful. He’s still not sure which way is up. He doesn’t know how long it lasts. His defenses crack open. He has no boundaries: he is one with the lake and his strange lover, the sky over Ferelden, the land, the walls and buildings, the Waking Sea where his ship is waiting, all of Thedas.

A tentacle touches him, and the entire world vibrates in pleasure. It slides down his lower back and along his crevice. As it slicks by his entrance, the universe vibrates like a cello. It fills him from behind, and he has no filter, no defenses, no way to stop the pleasure coursing through everything. The entire world is in the throes of ecstasy and they don’t even know why. The feeling of being filled and explored is sublime. It wriggles inside him without thrusting, and Anders moans, wordlessly trying to explain to the world what is happening.

Then a second tentacle enters, slowly, slowly. Anders lets it: what else can he do? It presses flat against the prostate, and a jolt shoots through him. Anders observes the sensation and wonders whether it’s pleasure or pain. He moans either way. Encouraged, the tentacles shorten and widen, then lengthen deeper into Anders’ body. He’s never felt anything like it, but he doesn’t try to categorize it beyond ‘amazing.’ The stretch when it gets to its widest part, then the wriggling depths the tentacles explore…

On the next lengthening, they slide a little deeper, and a third tentacle slides in next to them. The stretch burns a little, and Anders hisses in, whimpers out through the tube. The tentacle continues to slide in slowly, and now Anders’ prostate is pressed continuously. They feel so deep Anders begins to wonder whether they will be digested if they go too far. Then they retreat, but they’re not sliding out. They’re actually widening again. It shouldn’t be possible or right but the slow pressure feels fucking amazing.

And then it stops. Anders is suspended, panting over his new stretch. He starts to get control of his breath, when a brief touch presses into his side. That’s enough to get him panting. He nearly gets it back to normal when a touch on the back of his thigh sets him off. _Is it toying with me?_ But of course it is; that’s all it’s been doing this entire time. The next touch comes before he’s under control, and it settles around his neck. He hadn’t realized how much he missed that touch until it was back. He doesn’t get anything under control but receives another brief touch on his arm anyway. He feels himself unravel under brief touches and the widest stretch he’s ever experienced, letting his head loll in the tentacles’ embrace. Another tentacle wraps tight around the base of his cock, which should disturb him more than it does.

The tentacles in his ass start to slide. Deeper first, then out. Then back in, slowly, tortuously, as the tip of another tentacle swirls around the tip of his cock. He’s moaning continuously now, uncontrollably. He’s losing track of the random touches, too. Is it more than one at a time, now? He feels so good everywhere he can’t be sure.

The tentacles are driving in and out of him. When did they get so fast? He’s grateful for the firm grip on the base of his cock preventing him from cumming. He knows that his lover likes—it wants—him to stay at this point, mindless with pleasure, for as long as possible.

He’s writhing, when did that start? His lover is allowing him to squirm, keeping his breathing tube firm, allowing his wrists and ankles to slide in their hold without coming loose. It presses a tentacle along the front of his body, from wrist, by cheek, over nipple, by cock, to toes. Anders squirms against it, grateful for the contact, and the grip on his wrists and ankles tightens briefly before relaxing again.

_Please, please,_ Anders begs in his mind, but he has no way to ask for his release. He whimpers, he presses into any stimulation he’s given, but he’s at this monster’s limited mercy. It has infinite patience. It keeps Anders suspended in pleasure for hours, relaxing and tightening the pull between his wrists and ankles once in a while. By the time Anders is allowed to cum, his orgasm hollows him out, wrecks him, and the creature doesn’t care.

It lets Anders go except for the breathing tube, knowing he won’t fight. Anders curls into himself after being stretched long for half the night. His knees are to his chest, arms wrapped around to grip his own ankles, head curled over his knees, the organic breathing tube trailing out his mouth and down his shins.

He floats only a moment like this before the touches come back. Tentacles smooth down his back, wrap over his arms and hands, hold him firmly in the position he chose. With a sickening lurch, Anders knows what will be next, and he’s not ready for it. A sweet, gentle touch caresses his well-used hole, continues up the length of the cleft, then down and around his rim again. It continues to his balls, cradling first one, then the other in the loose sac. Anders wonders if he’ll ever be aroused again when it finds the sensitive spot between his balls and his rim and begins playing with pressure and rhythm to get the biggest responses from him. He moans as his cock twitches again. He tries to uncurl, but the tentacles have him held tight.

The monster does not want to give up its new toy, so it doesn’t. Instead, another tentacle adds its own teasing to his rim.

_It’s going to enter me again. It’s going to enter, and I can’t take it._ But besides whimpering, there is nothing Anders can do to stop it.

But he’s wrong. It does enter him again, but he can definitely take it. It goes in long and thin and probing, like the first time it discovered this mode of pleasure, but with much more… stretch. Then it _hits_ his swollen prostate, sending a jolt of pain through Anders. He shouts into the breathing tube. The probing tentacle continues merrily with its exploration as though nothing had happened. Just as he’s relaxed again from the firm hold on most of him and the teasing sensation from the two tentacles in back, the one inside _hits_! He cries out in alarm and pain again, struggling a little this time, but he’s held firm and the teasing continues. Is it going to do it again, or were those part of its exploration? He panics a little now: If it does, it will hurt, and there’s nothing he can do about it. The teasing is working, too: his cock is getting hard, rising up between his ankles to twitch between his folded thighs.

_Jolt!_ Three times: this is definitely something it’s doing on purpose. This one aches from his prostate through his entire body, aching over everything.

_Jolt!_ This time, the ache from the previous hit hasn’t died yet, but this ache feels suspiciously like… _Don’t be ridiculous, it’s not pleasure._

_Jolt!_ His body disagrees with him. The pain shoots through him exactly like a single pulse of an orgasm.

_Jolt!_ The pleasure is heady and dangerous.

_Jolt!_ When did he start wanting it?

_Jolt!_ He can’t stop this.

_Jolt!_ Nothing can.

_Jolt! Jolt! Jolt!_ Anders orgasm starts mechanically, then smooths out and swells as the clenched tentacle inside him soothes his inflamed prostate. He’s gasping and crying, an emotional wreck. He thought it would hurt, but no, it’s so, so good. He should know by now. He should know it only wants his pleasure.

The monster cradles him on all sides while he finishes crying, stroking his hair with two tentacle tips. Anders still doesn’t know which way is up.

###

Anders surfaces in the morning, hungry. He sits up and stretches anyway, pleased with himself. He wishes he had tea, though, for this beautiful morning. Also toast and jam and maybe pie. The desire passes as a tentacle approaches with his favorite small fish. It allows him to lick and tease the tips every morning now. During their active nights, it allows Anders to touch it, stroke its long lines, and sometimes even push it where Anders wants to be touched. It doesn’t always take the suggestion, especially when Anders is in a rush. It still wants Anders strung out and panting with lust for as long as possible.

There’s no doubt now: his lover is darker. The tentacles around Anders this morning are a deep forest-green, with a healthy sheen about them.

Something’s wrong, though. Something doesn’t feel right.

“What’s wrong?” Anders muses out loud. “Something doesn’t seem right to me, how about you?” He’s never seen anything that indicates it can hear him, let alone understand, but he asks anyway. He gently scratches his chest down to his belly as he chews, trailing fingers at the edge of his smallclothes. The shore is closer this morning than it usually is.

“No,” Anders whispers. He tries to push off of the arms surrounding him to get to deeper water. Of course, the tentacles he’s trying to push against give him no resistance, and other arms push him toward shore. He fights, thrashing in full objection for the first time since he was first pulled under by those arms.

When had it slipped the smallclothes back on him?

“No!” he shouts, but the breathing tube chokes him off. He’s pulled under again, spun around so that he is no longer fighting for a direction; he’s just fighting the idea that he has to return. Then there is a heaving mass of tentacles under him, which he knows is under him because they’re pushing him up, shambling over the sloping shore. He grabs at the monster, but his hands slip off as it pulls free, leaving him gagging and panting on the empty shore.

He’s not done. He stands, ready to dive back into the water, when and arrow whizzes by him. He spins on his heel, saying, “What are you doing!?”

“We saw you struggling with that thing. You were lucky to fight it off,” the woman with the bow says.

“No!” Anders exclaims as a man runs the last few steps from the Spoiled Princess and throws a blanket around his shoulders. “It saved me! Don’t kill it.” Anders sits down on the shore, staring into the lake. “It saved me,” he says.

###

“I must admit, I didn’t think you’d survived. We’d given up on finding your body. We thought you’d died in that lake.”

“I wasn’t gone that long,” Anders says, smiling.

First Enchanter Irving and Knight-Commander Gregoir blink at exactly the same time. It’s kind of funny. Yet… he has a tan. He’s skinnier than he was. He could kill an entire loaf of bread and an orange tree.

“How long was I gone?” he asks, dreading the answer.

“You were gone a year.”

Anders leans back in his chair. “What?”

“How did you not know?” Gregoir demands.

“I… was under water,” he says, not knowing what else to say.

“How is that even possible?” Irving asks.

“There was a breathing tube,” Anders explains. “And it didn’t let me move much.”

There’s a quick glance at him, his toned arms and chest.

“But I tried,” Anders explains lamely, pulling the blanket around himself again. _Sweet Maker, how am I going to explain a year-long affair with a lake monster?_

Irving nods at Gregoir. “I am appalled that you kept him in solitary for such a long period of time, and did not allow me to tell my subordinates what was going on,” he says a bit woodenly.

Gregoir nods as well. “I’m sorry, First Enchanter,” he replies in a similar tone, “but I simply didn’t know what else to do with him. That was at least his seventh attempt to escape the Circle. I had to set an example. Perhaps if you hadn’t been so soft on him in the beginning, such drastic measures would not have been called for.”

“Nonsense,” Irving huffs, hitting his stride. “If you didn’t keep my mages under such strict rules, there would be no need to leave. The young man only wants to see the sky from time to time.”

“And we gave him that, and he jumped into the lake to swim for shore.”

“Well I’m sure this experience has traumatized him further.”

“I’m not traumatized,” Anders says.

Irving continues without listening, determined to keep up the charade. “And you can be sure that I will inform my people of your role in causing this damage. What have you been feeding him?”

Anders sighs. “Raw fish and oysters,” he says.

“Don’t you know people need some fruit and grain and vegetables in their diets?” Irving responds as if Gregoir had answered.

“It probably didn’t, it doesn’t see us eating those things,” Anders says. _So apparently I’m not going to have to explain anything._

“We all do what we can,” Gregoir says, smiling a little.

“Well, it’s not enough. I’m going to get this young man into some clean robes and feed him properly. No thanks to you.” Irving huffs, rising from his seat to hustle Anders out.

“No,” Gregoir says, “thank you.”

Irving smiles a little as he ushers Anders to his own private bath and a small feast.

**Author's Note:**

> This has two very short, angsty Afterwards. 
> 
> That night, Anders woke gasping. He said he dreamed he was drowning. If there were tears in his eyes, no one commented.
> 
> After that, Anders had a deep appreciation for raw oysters, clams, and small whole fish.
> 
>  
> 
> More notes:  
> Yes, I know this fix-it has tons of its own problems. For instance, where was Mr. Wiggams but for fuck's sake PLEASE do NOT write a fix-it to my fix-it putting Mr. Wiggams in the lake with a little kitty breathing tube that's just too much I'm done.


End file.
